Page 95 of The Defiance of a Scottish Heart
The battle finished quickly. Merryn went to free the three lasses just as a man they didn’t know came along and shouted, “My lassies?”
The girls ran to their father, while Merryn ran to Broc. Sheona stood on the edge of the boat because she could see better from the higher vantage point.
Taskill shouted, “I love you, Sheona. Are you not going to come down?”
Her gaze scanned the area, not seeing the one she wished to see. She had to see him. The bastard was going to harm her. Do what her brother did to that poor girl.
Her father yelled, “Sheona, get your arse down here now.”
But she couldn’t. Frozen, she searched frantically for his body, finally seeing him hiding behind a boulder. “Come out of there, you piece of shite.” She nocked her arrow and waited.
Clyde stood up, grinning, arms outstretched. “You think you can hit me? Go ahead and try.”
So she did, catching him low enough in his belly that it was nearly in his private area, his hands going to cover them. He cursed, so she came down from the boat, Sloan going after him. “I’ll finish him, Sheona.”
“Don’t you dare, Sloan.”
She strode toward Clyde, then kicked him in his bollocks, smiling when he screamed in pain. Then she looked at her father and brother and said, “Now he’s yours.”
And she ran straight into Taskill’s arms.
He caught her, solid and warm andreal, his arms closing around her so tightly she could barely breathe. But she didn’t care. She wound her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him—leather and sweat and steel and something uniquelyTaskill.
“You’re safe,” he whispered against her hair, his voice rough and broken. “Thank God, you’re safe.”
“You came.” Her voice cracked. “I knew you would. I knew—”
He pulled back just enough to frame her face with his hands, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity that stole her breath. “Did you think I wouldn’t? Did you think anything in this world could have stopped me from coming for you?”
Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was nothing careful or restrained. This was desperate and fierce and filled with five years of longing, weeks of fear, and the overwhelming relief of finding each other whole. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak, and she kissed him back with equal fervor, pouring everyounce of love and terror and joy into the connection between them.
When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Taskill pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw. “God help me, Sheona, I love you so much I can’t breathe when you’re not near me. I love you, and I’m done pretending I don’t. I’m done running from it.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Say it again.”
“I love you.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.” Her temple. “I love you.” The corner of her mouth. “I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives if you’ll let me.”
“I love you too.” The words came out on a sob. “I’ve loved you since I was nine years old, and I never stopped. Not for a single day. Even when I hated you, I loved you. Even when it hurt, I loved you.”
His thumb traced the line of her jaw, gentle despite the calluses on his hands. “I was so afraid for you.”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down for another kiss, softer this time but no less intense. “You’re mine, Taskill MacVey. You’ve always been mine. And I’m done letting you decide what I deserve.”
A sound that was half-laugh, half-groan escaped him. “Fierce lass. Mine,” he agreed, and kissed her again.
This kiss was different—slower, deeper, a promise of everything to come. His hands slid from her face down her neck, his touch reverent, as if he were memorizing the feel of her. She shivered when his fingers traced the line of her collarbone, then gripped his shoulders when his lips left hers to trail along her jaw.
“Taskill,” she breathed.
“Hmm?” His hands had moved to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.
“Everyone’s watching.”
That got his attention. He lifted his head, and sure enough, her father, Sloan, Broc, Tristan, and at least a dozen guards were all staring at them with expressions ranging from amusement to exasperation.
Dermot crossed his arms. “About damn time.”
